


Without Equal

by Min_SD



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Time, Fluff, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-13
Updated: 2009-09-13
Packaged: 2018-09-03 06:56:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8701870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Min_SD/pseuds/Min_SD
Summary: "Sam's head falls back, his neck arches, and his entire body stiffens into one imploring arc of strained muscle and smooth, naked flesh."Total PWP.  Hot sex in the Impala, Dean as top, Sam as (pushy) bottom.  No spoilers.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** Not much to say. This was a writing exercise that got a little out of hand.

  
Author's notes: Just a few minutes of distraction, hope you enjoy!  


* * *

Without Equal   
  
  


" _Now_ ," Sam says, breath warm on his brother's neck, tongue licking up the column of his throat, and he doesn't have to say another word. Just the one pretty much covers everything. 

Dean yanks on the handle that throws back the driver's seat of the Impala while Sam squirms into the space between him and the steering wheel. The wheel digs into Sam's back and it’s awkward, both brothers knock their elbows as they pull each other’s shirts off, but so what?—getting naked definitely trumps the need for personal comfort. Dean getting his hands on Sam's bare skin, spreading his fingers wide over the smooth expanse of his chest, the hard planes of his stomach…yeah. Definitely worth a few bruises. 

Dean unzips Sam’s fly and drags his jeans down as far as he can. “Come on, dammit,” Dean mutters in mild frustration as he tugs at Sam’s pants as well as his own. He is having little success in that small area, even with the seat-back down. 

Sam pushes Dean’s hands away to wiggle out of his own jeans, and Dean does the same. It requires a lot of shifting and lifting and cursing, but after what feels like a tortured eternity, they get the job done. When they’re both finally bare-assed, Sam straddles Dean’s lap and, from God knows where, produces a small bottle of oil lubricant. He flips the top and pours some into the palm of his hand, then puts the bottle aside. 

All the while holding Dean's gaze, Sam rubs his hands together to warm the oil, weaving his fingers together and then sliding his hands apart. A frisson of energy charges the air between them. It's either going to happen now, or never, everything rides on this moment. 

Then, as if he's already done it a hundred times, Sam puts a palm flat on Dean's stomach, traces the outline of hard muscles, the notch of his hipbone, the rippled planes of his abdominal muscles, leaving glistening trails of oil. He slides his fingers further down, into the dark blond curls of the triangle of pubic hair nestled between the thighs, then he takes Dean's cock in his hand. Dean arches into Sam's touch. It is both familiar and startlingly intimate. 

Sam wraps his fingers around the shaft of Dean's penis and slicks the oil up and down its length in one long, slow, smooth motion. He rubs a thumb around the ridge of the head, strokes the slit and spreads a bead of pre-cum. Dean fights to keep back the moan that wants to force its way up and out of his vocal chords. He bites his lip to keep silent, finds it infinitely harder when Sam's eyes lock on his white teeth worrying at the pink flesh and he leans down to swipe his tongue into Dean's mouth. Sam's face is flushed red across his high cheekbones and down the column of his neck. His catlike eyes on Dean's are dark and devastating, pupils blown wide and crowding out the green, and his tongue darts out to catch the taste of Dean lingering on his lips. 

Sam's hands on Dean's cock are hot and slick, fisting him once, twice, then encircling the base and sliding down to cup his sack. Dean's back arches and he gasps as Sam fondles his velvet sack, diligently working the oil into the skin, rolling his balls gently. Dean lifts his hips to give Sam more room to keep up the impossibly sweet torture that—honestly?—is driving him just a little out of his mind. Sam's hand ghosts back farther, deeper, until his index finger comes to the puckered entrance hidden in the crevice of Dean's ass. 

" _Jesus, Sammy_ ," Dean moans, not caring anymore about keeping it in. Sam's slick finger teases at the rim of muscle encircling his hole, flicks in and out once, working that ring of pleasure nerves that have Dean trembling and bucking his hips up off the seat. 

"Oh, Dean," Sam whispers, sounding just as wrecked as Dean, just as desperate, and Dean has to close his eyes for a moment. He has to shut out his brother's dark, heavy-lidded gaze that makes promises of impossible sexual delights, the mere _idea_ of which has Dean afire with lust—has him throwing his pride to the wind and shifting his pelvis to thrust his cock into Sam's hand again. 

The only sound in the car is that of their quickening breaths, getting a little faster, a little shallow as their excitement grows. Aroused, full of hot, pounding need, desire is like fire in their blood. 

Sam fists Dean once more. When he removes his hand, Dean's hips twitch as if to follow; he has to bite back a protesting cry. Then Sam sets to work on himself, slicking the oil over his cock, a look of concentration on his face, even a little crease between the eyebrows. Just a little pre-cum wells up, and the lube shines on the hard, red flesh of his fully-erect dick that curves back against his belly. Dean is getting an eyeful, has to reach out, can't help it, and fist down and up Sam's cock. Has to touch the hard muscles of his stomach that Dean loves to look at. 

Has to say: "After you shower, and you come into the room with just a towel, I watch you, Sammy. When you're getting changed, and you walk around in boxers, I watch. Love it, watching you always, Sammy, my Sammy." He strokes Sam's torso, feels the muscles so strong and firm. "God, love to look at you, Sammy, so fucking hot. You're mine." 

" _Jesus Christ, Dean_ ," Sam whispers low and rough, his breath hitching, his eyelids fluttering shut, his head falling back. His throat works as he swallows hard, and it takes him a moment before he can meet Dean's eyes again. "What you do to me…" 

So here's this boy, this man, who is so beautiful that it can be painful to look at him too long, like staring at the sun, here he is. And he's offering himself up to Dean, spreading for him, ready to take him in deep and hard. And there's Dean—himself more beautiful than he knows—staring at his gorgeous brother and getting high on the sight of him. Life doesn't dole out perfect moments often, but it feels like the two brothers have somehow stumbled into one now. Perhaps it's because they're finally making their own fate. 

Dean has the bottle of lubricant, now, pours some out and works it between his hands. Tosses the bottle, and then wraps his arm around Sam's waist, pulling him closer and lifting him slightly, telling him without words what he wants. Dean slides his fingertips between Sam's cheeks and presses lightly against the closed muscle around his hole. Slowly, Dean works the index finger of his right hand into Sam's ass, giving him time to get used to it. Then, another finger, both sunk to mid-joint, then deeper, all the way to the knuckle. 

Dean looks at Sam to make sure this is okay, and his breath catches. Sam's dark eyes are shining in the silver moonlight. His face is flushed so lovely a shade of red. His lips are trembling with every small gasp. His brow is furrowed, the skin around his eyes just barely tightened, pleasure-pain-pleasure beating across his face in measured waves. Then, he relaxes his legs enough to slide down around Dean's fingers and rolls his hips once, twice, effectively fucking himself on those two digits and _dear God_ Dean almost comes right there, has to fight it back. Too early, has to get control, he doesn't want to come anywhere but firmly buried in his brother's ass. 

Sam shifts and traps their twin erections between them. They rub slickly together, slippery from the oil, and Sam wraps a hand around both their cocks to hold them together while he starts rocking his hips. They quickly find a rhythm as they move against one another, and the amazing feeling of sweet, perfect friction makes Dean throw his head back, releasing another helpless moan. Sam darts forward and puts his mouth on Dean’s jaw, sliding his lips down his neck and sucking hard and long until he makes a mark on the skin over his collarbone. 

"Makes you mine," Sam hisses. 

“Fuck, Sam,” Dean says, doesn't have the breath to add, _I'm already yours_. He keeps working Sam open, sinking a third finger into his brother's tight channel even while thrusting into Sam’s grip and rubbing against his cock. Needing more contact, as much as he can get, Dean wraps his free hand around his brother’s hip hard enough to bruise. Tilts his head to press his mouth into Sam's throat, his skin hot with blood rushing beneath, salty and impossible to resist tasting again and again. Dean nips at his brother's neck, biting down enough to leave his own mark. Sam’s skin is damp with sweat, droplets roll down his forehead and bead on his upper lip. It’s kind of stuffy and warm in the car, Dean’s sweating, too, and the windows are fogged over so that the night outside, the empty lot where they’re parked, and the forest beyond that are blocked from their view. “ _Fuck_.” 

With a wet, dirty suction noise, Dean pulls his fingers out of Sam's ass and puts both his hands around his brother's hips. He tightens his grip, says, "Sam, I want to fuck you, Sammy." 

“Whatever you want,” Sam says, basically offering Dean the world. Sam stops jacking them off and puts one hand on Dean's shoulder, the other bracing him against the car door. He lifts up, letting Dean maneuver him into place, then sinks down onto Dean’s cock, his hand on the shaft to guide it in. He takes it all at once, his ass swallowing Dean’s cock from head to base. As Dean fits inside of Sam like a key in a lock, his head falls back and his hips buck, shoving all the way inside of his brother in one quick motion. 

" _Yes_ ," Dean says—groans, really. It feels like it's taken forever to get here. What the hell took so goddamn long? 

Sam's shout is wordless, and, for Dean, hearing him cry out at the feel and the force of the sudden invasion is so sweet. Knowing _he's_ doing this to his baby brother, it's _his_ cock making Sammy moan, _his_ touch. It's _Dean_ filling Sam up, taking him and having him in a way no one else gets to. That breathy, helpless sound Sam's making—so goddamn sexy—wipes Dean's mind, leaves only shock waves of lust and pleasure, and the feel of Sam, hot and tight around his rigid cock. Looking at Sam, watching his body work, those shadow-lined muscles shifting and stretching, Dean thinks about how he'll get to see this, see his brother's tight muscles bunch and flex, whenever they fuck. He'll get to look his fill at Sam's stomach and back rippling and arching as Dean takes him from behind or above. Just the thought of it, this new way in which Sam belongs to Dean, sends him careening closer and closer to the edge. 

The muscles in Sam’s neck and chest cord with effort as he tenses his thighs and lifts up, the tight rim of his hole like a vice squeezing Dean’s cock, and it feels _so good_. Dean growls, deep and guttural, a primal scream that satisfies something primitive lurking in the dark depths of his unconscious mind. Fully abandoning the ego, embracing the id, coaxes out some animal part of him that has him ratcheting up the pace, wanting more, faster. Thrusting wildly into his brother and thinking, _Mine_. Dean feels fiercely possessive of him, has a crazy urge to take him somewhere public and fuck him raw while people watch, so he can assert his claim. Show everyone that Sam is property of Dean Winchester and no one else. If he could, he would tattoo his touch on Sam's skin, leave his mark for all to see. 

Sam's eyes had drifted shut, but they snap open when Dean growls, go wide as his brows shoot up and he gasps. He regards Dean with something close to shock for about two seconds before groaning, picking up on Dean's urgency and making it his own. He works himself up and down Dean's cock, meeting each forceful thrust with one of his own. His body is a tight curl, shoulders hunched and tense, hips snapping, thighs bucking with the hot, throbbing pleasure burning through his core. 

Dean is taking this all in, feeling a little overwhelmed by his senses. It's very hard to keep it together when Sam’s making breathy little noises and he sounds like a fucking porn star. His eyes are shut, his lips parted and trembling, and Dean works his hands into Sam’s long hair to pull his mouth down. He fills up Sam’s mouth with his tongue and gets just what he wants, drinking from his brother, tasting him, making him all his own. Needing and taking and having, until he’s gasping and he has to pull back, rip himself away so he can drag in a deep breath. 

He puts his hands back on his brother’s hips, yanks him down on his cock and thrusts up, hard, into Sam. _So tight_ , stretched flesh encircling and gripping, a perfect fit; Dean sheathed in his brother's hot channel, searing heat lapping at his cock. Dean sliding Sam up, pulling _out_ , then hauling Sam’s hips back down. Slamming home with the force of a freight train, _in_ , triggering the pleasure response in every nerve ending. Sam makes these sexy sounds every time Dean fucks up into him. In and out, up and down, ram and lift, shove and pull—fucking in earnest with a pounding rhythm that gives no quarter and shows no mercy. The car is shaking with it, with their fucking, and they’re definitely testing the integrity of the shocks on the Impala tonight. Hot sex versus good old American engineering. 

Sam lets himself drop with all his weight onto Dean’s cock, and they both let out identical moans. They’re groping each other with their hands, Dean has Sam’s cock in his fist for a few strokes, but then Sam angles his body and thighs back so that in one motion Dean’s buried to the hilt inside of his brother. The ripping bolt of pleasure that comes with the move makes Dean cry out and lose his place for a second; his hands fly away from Sam’s skin to grip the seat beneath him, fingers closing convulsively on the leather upholstery, grabbing it like he’s going to be dragged off if he doesn’t hold on tight enough. It takes a lost moment or two before he gets back to himself enough to remember where he is, that he’s fucking his beautiful baby brother, and his hand wraps back around Sam’s thick, swollen red cock. 

"Okay?" Sam asks, the word riding a breathy moan as Dean jacks him nice and slow. 

"Mm. Got a little lost, there, for a second," Dean admits. 

"Don't you go anywhere," Sam says, and he leans down to lick along his brother's jaw, up to his mouth, sucks on his lower lip, and kisses him deep and wet. 

Dean chuckles at his baby brother's commanding tone. He says into the kiss, "Doing my best, Sammy." 

Sam hugs Dean close, ready to take on any force in the world to keep his brother there with him. Sam’s so tall that he has to bend his neck to tilt his head against the ceiling of the car, and with his wide shoulders and his arms looking like they were carved from granite, he fills up all the space around him. The world’s not large enough to take all of Sam, he’s just cosmic; but Dean’s taking him right now, guiding Sam up and down the shaft of his cock again and again. Sam, so big, so strong, making those helpless little cries because of Dean. _Fuck_ that just burns him up. His Sammy, rocking his hips as they drive each other toward climax, moving against Dean’s thrusts, fucking himself on Dean’s rigid cock with wanton abandon. Soaked with sweat and panting and whispering, “More, harder, _harder_.” 

Well, Dean has always tried to give Sammy what he wants, so he gets both hands around him, palming his hipbones and splaying his fingers on the sweat-sheened skin of his side and back. With a tight enough grip, thumbs digging into the grooves of muscle narrowing into Sam’s dark pubic hair and erect cock, he can really get the leverage he needs to drive into Sam with all his will and strength. Sam yelps, shivers, maybe moans just a little in pain, but he doesn’t pull away and Dean doesn’t stop. Right now, they’re just bodies in this little space, not letting the world in, no thoughts crowding their heads to bring more misery down on them. No saviors or sinners, here. Just Dean and Sam, squeezed into the small space between the steering wheel and the lowered seat back in the Impala, fucking each other stupid. 

Yeah, Dean’s _loving_ the sounds coming from Sam, the little pained cries as he takes Dean all the way in, until Dean is buried balls-deep inside of him. And there’s the dirty, wet sound of Sam’s ass smacking down on Dean’s balls, the squelching noise of sweaty skin pressed together and then pulled apart. Everything about this is dirty and a little sick. Dean is Sam’s _big brother_ , it’s so wrong, but that only makes it better. There’s a hot, illicit thrill, like he’s corrupting his Sammy, claiming him with his cock in his ass, and he can’t get enough. He’s twisted, wanted this for so long, that beautiful boy spread out for him, naked expanse of skin, and kind of helpless, dripping and hard for him. 

Just Sam and Dean, in and out, up and down, hips bucking, grabbing at each other with clumsy hands that slide in sweat against tight muscles and soft curves. Dean is squeezing Sam’s hips, pistoning up into him with almost violent force, putting everything into it, into each thrust, wanting to hurt Sam just a little. Wanting to leave a scar as proof he was there. He wants Sam raw and open when they’re done. 

“Dean, Dean,” Sam gasps, looks Dean in the eye, and the intimacy of it, of that look, pushes Dean all the way to the edge, and drags Sam with him. At the edge, but not over it, not yet. “ _God, Dean_. Harder, _fuck, harder!_ ” Sam is impatient and demanding as ever, even when he’s riding Dean’s cock. Dean’s the only one he would ever let inside like that—metaphorically speaking—no one else on Earth, in Heaven, or in Hell. There is no one he trusts enough to hand over all control. Dean, his brother and his lover, who has paid the ultimate price for Sam; who came back from Hell to take him, body and soul. “Please,” he says in a small voice, the one only Dean has ever heard, because it comes from so deep within. 

“Yeah, Sammy, yeah,” Dean grinds out, his voice deeper than usual, weighted down and made hoarse with his lust. He hasn’t heard his voice like this, so worn-down and sere, since he had screamed it out in Hell. 

And God, did he scream. He screamed for Sam. Not for Dad, not for his mother, but for Sam. And now he has him. He has to laugh at the sheer impossibility of it, of the feel of his brother back in his arms. He wasn’t supposed to ever have this again, he had damned his own soul to an eternity of _wanting_ and _not-having_ , yet here he is…By the grace of God and his angels, he is with his Sammy again…And now that he has him, he doesn’t plan to let him go—not ever again. 

Sam smiles down at him, a shuddering expression that flashes across his face and then is quickly wiped away when Dean yanks him down onto his cock so hard that Sam’s hands spasm and ball up into fists. Then Sam puts his hands on Dean’s shoulders and he begins flexing his elbows to give him better leverage as he rocks forward and back, again and again, like he's on springs. He’s riding Dean hard, and Dean knows he's hitting the just-right spot in Sam from the way his brother throws his head back and groans, long and loud enough to shatter the night around them. Sam with his hips bucking and rolling, the taut muscles in the rim of his hole sliding up and down Dean’s cock. It’s so good, and Dean’s rocking his pelvis counter to Sam’s movements just so he can ram up hard into Sam, losing it a little as an orgasm starts to claw its way up out of him. They kind of fall out of rhythm with each other as they both get closer and closer to a blinding finish. Sweat and tears mingle and slide down Sam’s cheeks and he’s gasping, moaning Dean’s name. 

“ _Sam_ ,” Dean whispers back and comes, closing his hand spasmodically around Sam’s cock as his hips jerk and his back arches like electricity is coursing through his body. He comes and comes, it seems like it’s never going to stop. Like he’s caught forever in a loop of bursting pleasure and fulfillment. Like the climax to a story that builds and builds and has no denouement. " _Sam, God, Sam_ ," and it’s the closest Dean has ever come to praying. 

Still rising up, there is only sensation, only the physical. His mind is blank, his vision has failed, and Jesus, he has never come so hard, has he? Everything is Sam, Sam, Sam, his whole world filled to the brim with one man, one soul, his brother. He comes inside of Sam, thrusting up in uneven spurts, hips stuttering, his heart skipping and pounding in his ears. 

And Sam is clenching around Dean’s dick, his own movements losing their rhythm as he comes in a great surge. Splashes of white paint his belly and chest, and Dean’s fist still around his pumping cock. Sam throws himself back and accidentally slams into the steering wheel, sounding the horn. They both jump at the unexpected noise and laugh breathlessly, until Sam reaches the peak of his orgasm and his throat closes, and he can barely breathe, sucking air in small gasps. His head falls back, his neck arches, his entire body stiffens into one imploring arc of strained muscle and smooth, naked flesh. 

Dean keeps milking Sam’s dick through his orgasm until it grows soft and spent, and only then does Sam lift up so Dean can slide his own limp member out of Sam’s ass. Sam falls forward against Dean, resting his sweaty forehead on his brother’s shoulder, his soft, floppy hair tickling Dean’s neck. He drops small kisses on Dean’s neck and shoulder, then down to his collarbone, briefly licking at the salty skin and at the mark he made earlier. Dean can do nothing but gasp under Sam's mouth, all through the trembling aftermath. 

Sam turns his head, slides his lips along Dean’s cheek and then tries to capture Dean’s lips in a kiss, but Dean pulls away. The look on Sammy’s face, the hurt, causes Dean a pain in his heart, and he’s quick to say, “No, Sammy, no, I just—I can’t breathe.” And he pants a little for effect. 

Sam smiles in relief, and puts his hands on Dean’s cheeks. He kisses Dean lightly on the nose, on his cheekbones, his freckles, his chin, then each eyelid flutters closed beneath his lips. When Dean’s breathing has calmed down he pushes up into his baby brother, and Sam tenderly kisses Dean on the mouth, lips parting to gently touch his tongue to Dean’s before tilting his head to lean their foreheads together. 

Dean’s pretty sure that no man should have so much power over another; that one small move can wound so easily, and a few small words can heal so quickly. But damned if Sam doesn’t rule Dean just as completely. Turn-about is fair play in their world. 

In a moment they’ll have to stir. They both have to clean up some, clothing must be retrieved. Bodies must be pulled apart, separating flesh from flesh…but not yet. Just…in a minute or two, but not yet. It can wait, they can put off the moment when they must put their walls back up; because they can’t be so raw and real with the rest of the world. Only when they’re alone, only in the dark, in each other’s arms, moving together in shared passion. Only then can they let the truth show in such stark relief. 

It's about trust, and choice. Dean will choose Sam always, above all else; that's what all this is about, right? That's what it's always been about, just two brothers against the world. Isn't that how it will always be? 

They kiss again, more deeply this time, until they’re _both_ nearly out of breath. Dean wraps his arms all the way around Sam and falls back into the reclined seat, dragging his brother with him. Sam makes a contented noise and settles in. Their bodies line up just right, an instant perfect fit, lock and key again. Ideal. Flawless. Seamless. 

Without equal.   
  


***  



End file.
